


Triad

by valantha



Series: Pheromones [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Altered Universe, Episode: s01e08 The Well, F/M, Getting Together, M/M, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Queen/Worker/Drone Dynamics, Threesome - F/M/M, except not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:13:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4357565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valantha/pseuds/valantha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fitzsimmons were Ward’s; his to protect. Ward was Fitzsimmons’; theirs to take care of. For tonight at least.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Triad

From the beginning (or at least from near the beginning) Fitzsimmons were fascinated by Ward. He had this whole über-Drone ultra-protective thing going on. Sure, they had encountered Drones before –- not that there were many Drones in Sci-Ops, but there were some –- and sure, Ward didn’t really understand them, but they way he took down those Drone-goons in Peru and on The Bus was quite impressive (though technically Fitz designed the pressure sensitive grenade-launcher and everyone helped with the plan to blow a hole in The Bus).

And then Ward had been Iron Man-amazing, jumping out of The Bus to dose Simmons with the antiserum-thing, and they couldn’t forget how he’d done his level best to protect Fitz in South Ossetia (after, of course, protecting Fitz from the world’s most dangerous sandwich), but it wasn’t until after the Asgardian Berserker Staff did Fitzsimmons make their move. It wasn’t until after the Asgardian Berserker Staff did Ward _need_ anything.

The Staff had royally fucked up Ward’s neurotransmitters, throwing his pheromones and his emotions completely out of whack. He needed stability; he needed help.

Fitzsimmons found Ward in the hotel bar reeking of isolation, inferiority, and hostility. It was a wonder he wasn’t driving away more of the clientele, but then again, it _was_ a hotel bar. Simmons tried cajoling him, talking to him about logic and balance, but Fitz went straight for the kill. He placed his secondary hand on Ward’s bare neck and _leaned_.

Simmons tsked at Fitz for him uncouth behavior, but didn’t argue with the results. Ward went from resisting, claiming not to need any help, to sagging in his chair finally ready to accept their assistance.

One hand on each primary arm, Fitzsimmons led him to their hotel room. In the elevator he tried to apologize for his earlier behavior in the lab, but they assured him it was unnecessary. They’d known he was hurting and lashing out, not fully in control of his actions.

Once they reached their room –- a fancy suite with a California Hive-sized bed (and a fully-stocked snack bar) -– Fitzsimmons stripped Ward of his clothing. Fitz peeled the leather jacket and shirt off of Ward’s broad thorax while Simmons untied his shoes and removed his black pants.

They pushed him gently, unresistingly, onto the bed. The palms of Fitz’ secondary arms danced over Ward’s thorax. Simmons bathed his strong legs in serenity. Together they suffused his skin with soothing pheromones, giving him what they could of themselves. They mapped his constellations of scars; Simmons recognized a few as ones she had tended, they were in the minority. Fitz focused his attention upon Ward’s thick shoulders, massaging away the tension and coating the sensitive skin of his neck with contentment.

After an hour or so of this gentle care, all three of them dozed off, a tangle of limbs. Ward’s strong singleton arms held Fitzsimmons close, promising of safety and security. One of Simmons’ secondary arms cupped Ward’s neck still focused on soothing him, the other crossed over Ward’s broad thorax to wrap palm-to-wrist with Fitz. One of Fitz’ other hands was tangled Ward’s silken hair.

* * *

When Simmons awoke the next morning curled up around Fitz with the massive warm weight of Ward curled around her, she was content. Ward smelled more at peace than he had for weeks, Fitz smelled happier than he’d smelled since before they went into the field, and herself? Well squished between her partner of almost a decade and a strapping Drone, she felt safer than she’d felt since long before she’d been infected with the Chitauri virus. She tucked her face into the hollow of Fitz’ neck and snuggled against Ward broad thorax with a hum of contentment, more than willing to sleep in this morning. Lab could wait a few hours; she’d be more productive for the rest.

When Simmons awoke the next time, it was to the soothing sensation of having her hair stroked. She released a spritz of joy into the air.  Ward’s thorax -– her current pillow -- bobbed with silent mirth.

Simmons scooted over, opening her eyes to a serene Ward and a slumbering Fitz. Fitz had well and truly entangled himself in Ward; all four arms were wrapped around some part of Ward –- trapping his other arm and both of his legs in Fitz’ unyielding embrace.

Simmons smiled. Fitz was always a demanding bedfellow. Especially when he slept.

Ward gave her a good-natured grin of embarrassed entreaty.

Simmons stroked her primary, senseless hands over his adorable face with cheekbones to kill for, and set about freeing him from her limpet-like partner.

Long experience had taught her all of Fitz’ weaknesses, and she exploited one. She walked around the bed lathering her secondary hands full of alertness and buzzed him on his back, near his armpit.

He flailed at such a rude awakening, but Simmons ducked laughingly.

Fitz sleepily grumbled about bloody evil women and reattached himself to Ward. At least Ward had had time to rearrange himself before Fitz had latched on fully.

Ward guffawed, startling himself as well as Simmons. Simmons smiled to herself, this was a good idea. Ward had needed it; they had needed it too.

“It’s still early; you coming back to bed?” Ward asked.

Simmons considered and then rejected the idea.

“Actually, if you’re willing, there’s been an experiment I’ve been wanting to try out for a while.”

Ward hummed inquiringly.

“Fellatio,” Simmons stated forthrightly.

Ward choked on the air he was breathing, a physical impossibility.

Fitz stroked Ward’s back soothingly as he caught his breath.

Simmons just waited. Sometimes her direct nature startled those unfamiliar with her. She would have thought Ward would be more used to it by now, but in her (limited) experience, Drones had pretty traditional ideas of intercourse.

Ward’s primary scent was that of astonishment, but there was interest too.

Simmons quirked her eyebrow inquiringly at Fitz. Fitz was actually touching Ward; he’d be the best judge of Ward’s interest.

Fitz nodded; Ward was mostly interested. She knew Fitz would rather get in some more cuddle-time, but they hadn’t been together so long without learning the meaning of compromise.

Simmons approached, running her hands along Ward’s muscular thorax. Fitz was right; he was rather interested.

Fitz manhandled Ward into his lap. He’d be able to card Ward’s hair and watch the action, without getting in the way.

Like last night, she mapped the constellations of Ward’s scars; unlike last night there wasn’t a milligram of ‘soothing’ in her pheromones.

Simmons worked her way down, rubbing seduction into his skin as she went. She remembered the events that surrounded each of the scars she knew intimately and pondered the stories of those she didn’t.

By the time she had worked her way to her destination and peeled off Ward’s underwear, his penis was engorged and semi-erect.

Simmons had always been fascinated by reproductive genitalia, Drone-penises and Queen-vulva both. Her family had never understood, and though Fitz didn’t share her academic interest, at least he accepted her as she was.

Simmons gently stroked the shaft with her primary hand; it jumped in her hand. Fascinating. She stroked it again, the skin was so soft and smooth, and yet underneath it was rather rigid. Ward groaned softly.

Simmons inspected the smooth, reddened glans and the raphe underneath. Ward groaned louder.

She glanced up catching the eye of both Ward and Fitz.

Ward’s face bore a grimace of pain, though his smell told of arousal, and Fitz was content playing with Ward’s hair and watching.

Her initial observations (16 cm long; diameter: 4 cm; angle: 120 degrees; overall nicely proportioned) concluded, Simmons moved on, settling in at the foot of the huge hotel bed.

She licked the underside of Ward’s penis and then took it into her mouth. He moaned. She ran her tongue around the head. Ward moaned, his thigh twitched.

Simmons pressed down on his leg with her secondary hand, forestalling any more violent thrashing, and gently cupped his scrotum with a primary hand.

She proceeded to explore his varied responses to a multitude of (presumably) pleasurable stimuli until he ejaculated with a muffled moan.

His semen was bitter and salty, with a viscosity slightly less than that of mucus or a Queen’s vaginal secretions. She swallowed what she could and wiped the rest off of her face with the back of her hand. It wasn’t unpleasant.

Ward had curled his face into Fitz’ thorax to muffle his moans about halfway through Simmons’ experiment, and was currently basking there, blissed out. Fitz had a pleased expression on his face, though he also smelled surprised to be pleased.

Simmons extended her secondary arm to Fitz, and he took it, palm-to-wrist. Yes, he had enjoyed this little experiment of hers, and though it was quite a bit of work, and her mouth sort of ached, Simmons would be up for replicating it.

Ward groped around and gave Simmons an uncoordinated head-pat. Some crude sign of gratitude, the best he could do in his current satiated state. She snuggled against Ward’s thick thigh, still in communion with Fitz, and luxuriated in the pheromone storm she had aroused.


End file.
